


It’s Sunday and I’m in Love

by tuesday_reads



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, Established Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Exy (All For The Game), Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Happy Andrew Minyard, Happy Foxes (All For The Game), Happy Neil Josten, M/M, Married Couple, Neil Josten & Andrew Minyard Adopt, Older Andrew Minyard, POV Neil Josten, Professional Exy (All For The Game), Romantic Fluff, Soft Andrew Minyard, Soft Neil Josten, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, its really cute and a little bit funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23012842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday_reads/pseuds/tuesday_reads
Summary: A soft, fluffy, healed Andrew Minyard and Neil Josten as husbands and cat owners fic. They go about their morning kissing on kitchen counters and dealing with a pair of rascal cats, soaking in each other's presence and being cute and happy and whole. It's Sunday morning and, as the title says, they're in love. (Also, Neil vs. memes.)
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 19
Kudos: 243





	It’s Sunday and I’m in Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this today on my day off, so I thought what the heck I'll just post it! It's really just pure fluff... but sometimes that's what you need. This is mainly a huge self-indulgent fic aghsda

Sunlight dances golden across the bedsheets of a home in Southern California, gliding and dipping into the creases of white cotton fabric. A calico cat lounges at the foot of the bed, her front paw thrown lazily over her face to shield it from the light. Another – not a calico, but a shaggy, dishevelled looking tortoiseshell - pads softly into the room before jumping up onto the mattress. Once there, her ears pricked forward and eyes blown wide, she paws knowingly at the orange blankets. The lump underneath groans. Andrew Minyard watches quietly from the window seat, book in hand and coffee long forgotten. 

The small mountain moves a little more, a tuft of messy auburn curls peeking out from the top of the cocoon – the only thing giving any indication of the person hiding underneath. The lump makes another noise of disagreement, disappointment, or, possibly, regret as the tortoiseshell sits directly on their face. Andrew turns a page of his book, his smile incremental and secret. It’s one of the rare mornings where he’s the first one awake, and he thinks that maybe he should start getting up earlier if it means he gets to wake up to this.

“This isn’t funny,” the lump says, muffled because of the small creature currently occupying, well, their face. Sir kneads at the soft blanket like she’s making bread, completely unaware (or uncaring) of her blatant disrespect and assholery.

“I assure you it is,” Andrew replies. His brows crease a little at how well Neil gauged his reaction without seeing him. It’s such a foreign concept to be known and it still takes him by surprise, even after 12 years.

“Andrew.”

“Yes, Neil?”

“I can’t breathe.”

“A real pity that. The headlines are writing themselves: _Neil Josten, exy superstar and son of the notorious gangster Nathan Wesninski, aka. The Butcher of Baltimore, escapes torture and death only to be suffocated years later by an asshole cat by the name of Sir Fat Cat McCatterson,_ ” Andrew deadpans towards the bed.

Neil lets out an amused chuckle, just a quick exhale of air through his nose. He makes a half-hearted attempt to untangle his arms from the sheets, but it’s useless; he’s well and truly tucked in there.

“Ask King for help,” Andrew suggests, but he’s already half-way to standing. He closes the space between him and the bed, and he scoops Sir up into his arms. She’s decidedly very unhappy about this, which she lets Andrew know with a curt hiss.

Andrew holds her out in front of him, his hands under her arms so they can be face to face, and says, “I know. The house would be so much quieter without him. But it would be a lot cleaner without you, so I’d choose my battles wisely.”

Neil snorts as he brushes cat hair from his face, and Andrew half-places half-throws Sir onto the ground. She sticks her tail up in defiance, but Andrew just gives her a bored stare until she struts away. 

“She’s a menace,” Neil sputters through a mouthful of fur. He gives Andrew a pointed look.

This look of Neil’s is specifically reserved for Sir-related instances, such as face smothering and secret gym bag peeing. Andrew doesn’t have a snarky retort. The look means, “Andrew, we already had a cat. A nice cat. She’s so nice, Andrew, she’s basically an angel. Why on Earth did you feel the need to come home with the devil? We didn’t even talk about it, you just turned up with a feral cat one day and pushed her into my arms and said ‘here.’ And we never spoke of it again. I’m fine with it because I love her, but WHY.”

So, he stays silent. Neil rolls his eyes and sits up against his elbows, head tilted upward expectantly. Andrew obligingly slides a hand behind Neil’s neck and leans in to kiss him, soft and slow. It’s long and lazy, a kiss designed specifically for Sunday mornings that start at 10am and hold the promise of homemade pancakes; the type of kiss that reminds you to fall in love all over again. 

They both melt into each other like snow beneath the California sun. Through Andrews shirt, Neil lazily rubs his thumb against his ribs while Andrew taps his finger along to Neil’s steady pulse. They could do this forever and never get tired of it. Usually, they do, but now Andrew pulls away. He narrows his eyes at Neil as he pulls a distastefully long piece of cat hair from his mouth. Neil starts, expression changing from amused to apologetic, before quickly giving way to the winning smile he usually reserves for the press.

Through the grin, he asks, “breakfast?”

Andrew takes him by the hand and starts leading them both towards the kitchen. Neil asks King if she’s coming, too, but she just stares stupidly at them. 

“Head too big for her gotdamn thoughts,” Neil says into the space of their bedroom. Andrew looks at him.

“What did you just say, Josten?” 

If anyone else heard him, they’d think Andrew was making a threat. The question comes out menacing when he meant for it be shocked and confused. He’s actually feeling very entertained.

Neil flaps the hand not holding Andrews around in a forget-about-it sort of manner. But he does it for too long, so it just looks like he’s shooing a fly away. It’s a consequence of spending your developmental years on the run, and Andrew feels both fond and furious. 

“It’s nothing,” Neil starts, noticing that he’s continued the hand action for too long. He smiles shyly at Andrew and continues, “just something Matt sent to me.”

“The infamous Neil Josten quoting memes, who knew the day would come,” Andrew announces as if it’s some sort of breaking news.

Neil gives him a little shrug and an even smaller smile, “Trust me, no one’s as surprised as me. None of them make sense, and I still don’t get the point, but it’s kind of fun. Sometimes”

Andrew gives him a look that he hopes is bored as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind Neil’s ear. He gets his hand squeezed softly in return.

“210%” Andrew says simply, but he knows Neil will understand.

They leave King to her bath and exit into the kitchen hand in hand. Neil heads straight for the espresso machine while Andrew makes a detour for the fridge. By the time Neil turns around with his mug of black coffee, he finds Andrew situated on the countertop, chocolate croissant in hand.

“You really should try to eat more fruit, Andrew” Neil says without any real heat as he grabs a tangerine for himself.

“Or what? Are you going to tell Kevin? I doubt even you want to start down that path,” he says through a bite of pastry. Neil turns back around to look at him, sighing.

“I do not,” he concedes, overexaggerating a full-body shiver.

He places his arms on Andrew's thighs, letting his weight fall into it so his elbows dig into the soft muscle. Andrew obediently spread his legs apart and Neil happily slots himself into the new space. They stay like this for a while, with Neil gently placed into a spot made specifically for him, and Andrew happy to be the one to have carved it out for him. They sip their coffee and eat their Sunday breakfast, and their eyes slide shut with the heaviness of such practised happiness.

After some time, Neil opens his eyes and looks up towards Andrew. He returns the look blankly, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of _what is it now?_ Neil puts his half-empty mug beside Andrew's thigh, and then he steps up onto his tippy toes.

Andrew drags out a put-upon sigh and takes his husband by the shoulders. They kiss merrily against one and other, the taste of coffee and sweet bread melting together in their mouths. Andrew presses his thighs into Neil’s sides in a whispered reminder that he’s there. Hands wander below shirt hems and into hair; kisses land on necks and against the corner of chapped lips; legs wrap around waists and press into cutlery draws. Their breaths fill the space around them like a breeze flowing through a field, steady and full of promise. 

When they break apart it’s only to come together again in a different shape. Neil wraps his arms around Andrew’s middle, his head resting against broad chest, while Andrew nestles his in the soft tangles of Neil’s hair. They’re both soaked in the moment, heads heavy with love and disbelief. 

Neil breaks the silence first.

“We should head for the court soon,” he mumbles against Andrew’s shirt.

Andrew hums thoughtfully in reply.

“I’m serious, Andrew. I’ve got to practise, and so should you” Neil says as he starts to pull away. Andrew stops him by crossing his ankles together behind Neil’s back, his head still buried in a sea of glided red.

“I heard you, junkie.”

Neil reluctantly settles back into the curve of Andrew’s body and closes his eyes. He wants to remember how this feels. 

Abruptly, Andrew’s head shoots up and his body twists around, throwing Neil out of his daze. He stumbles backwards and watches Andrew lift Sir up off of the benchtop.

“Got you, you little fuck,” Andrew tells her through a scowl, but Neil knows better. This is why he loves Sir, she’s such a menace that there’s never a boring moment. Neil thinks there’s probably an insult against him hidden in there somewhere, but he valiantly chooses to ignore it.

“Was she about to…” Neil trails off as he eyes the forgotten coffee mug on the edge of the bench.

“Yes,” Andrew replies distractedly. He’s got Sir’s face pressed up against his as they stare each other down.

Sir relents first, meowing sadly like she wants to be put down. Andrew bends to her will, but not before looking into her eyes and saying, very seriously, “that’s what I thought.”

Neil watches her pad back down the hallway and into their bedroom, probably to annoying King for the umpteenth time this morning.

“You know, if we had children, we’d be able to use bad behaviour as an excuse to get out of weekend practices,” Neil suggests. He doesn’t have a problem with weekend exy training, but he knows hearing it will entertain Andrew, which is why he says it.

Andrew considers this.

“It has not failed to cross my mind,” he tells Neil slowly.

They don’t have practise until later that evening, but they do have adoption papers that need to be finalised by today, so they follow in Sir’s footsteps and head for the bedroom to get ready. It takes longer than it should. They keep getting pulled into each other’s orbits, tangling together like roots in a garden. It’s Sunday, and the golden sunlight is dancing across them, warm and welcome and whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! I love married/older Andreil with cats sm. Leave a kudos if you want!! It motivates me to write.
> 
> Much Love, Tuesday <3


End file.
